Sex: Male♫ | The Civil Wars – Barton Hollow.
Miles and miles in my bare feet / Still can't lay me down to sleep / If I die before I wake,
I know the Lord my soul won't take…
Alexander had fallen, Vlarindara had gone missing, Aisling had disappeared and his pack… his family… had recently started making him look back at all that had happened in the most recent months. Was he a good leader? Probably not. Was he a good father? He could be better one or so he felt. Should he have gone out of his way to set things right, to find what was missing, to get his life in order? Yeah… actually. But, today, on yet another cloudy afternoon, Borden Lyall laid motionlessly in a shallow depression of mud, hidden behind a veil of plumed, drooping willow branches.
Counting his deeds back and forth and stacking them up against the past that seemed to follow always one step behind him, he stared absentmindedly up to the gnarled boughs of the tree towering above him. His breathing was almost sluggish and his heart pulsed in his chest with a rhythm that one could have slow-danced to. His jaws opened a crack and he let loose an airy sigh before sliding his eyelids down over his sage-hued eyes. Perhaps his crusade for redemption would never be completed, and perhaps he would never feel worthy of what he had or earned. He swallowed what little moisture had gathered at the back of his mouth then forced himself to think of Jayse… Imagining her in all her angelic elegance helped alleviate some of the weight that piled onto his shoulders but it wasn’t too long until the pressure returned and the vision of her disappeared. The breath that he had been holding captive in his chest stung his lungs as he released it and inhaled deeply. It only took a moment though for the pain to subside and for his body to fall back into the anguish it had briefly surfaced from.
Taken back to the time when he and Kiche had encountered one another, he gave himself a jolt. With half-lidded eyes, he blinked as a fragment of their conversation came to mind:
“When you die, would you rather have Him waiting for you with open arms? Or wake up in Hell?”
“I've already woken up in Hell…”
The words echoed and flitted about his head and he reconsidered that he actually had never left Hell behind in Bertram Valley like he meant to. It had probably followed after him into Relic Lore… Truthfully, why else would things seem to always be falling apart? First, the water had disappeared when he arrived to the Wildwood. Second, while he had been welcomed to the ranks of the Midnight Plateau pack, he had been sent away after trying to leave on good terms. Third, his good intentions to repair his relationship with the gray-and-white leader fell through and in its place a cloud of resentment rose. When he established his pack, what he believed was rightfully his, it thrived but the reminder of his shortcomings constantly came to mind. It also didn’t help that his first-born son was already beginning to follow in his steps… His ears lowered considerably as he sealed his lips and tucked his tail and limbs underneath him. Maybe this was how the world worked, he supposed: one misstep was enough to send one falling from grace, and when one dared to seek redemption, karma would make him suffer all the while... Between all he had done and not done, nothing seemed like it would be enough to save him now.
Ain't going back to Barton Hollow / Devil gonna follow me e'er I go / Won't do me no good washing in the river / Can't no preacher man s a v e my soul?
